His Shade
by Dragon'sHost
Summary: With a little prodding from Erik, Macbeth is finally ready to do something he should have done a long time ago.


**This was a request for rainingwhiteroses on Tumblr.**

 **Also, I know very little about makeup, so sorry in advance.**

* * *

"You really should apologize, you know."

Macbeth leveled a glare at his smirking friend, frustrated at having been caught staring as Fairy Tail's resident celestial mage disappeared through a door. "I hate how you do that."

The malicious glee on Erik's face only increased. "I don't even _need_ to listen to your soul to know that you want to. You're just that obvious. If you were aiming for subtlety, maybe you shouldn't stare piningly in her direction every time we see Fairy Tail."

"If you're so keen on apologizing, why don't you do it yourself?" Macbeth snapped at him. "You're weren't exactly uninvolved yourself."

"I already did."

The easy confession from Erik threw Macbeth from a loop. "When exactly..."

"Like... not long after we joined up with Crime Sorciere two years ago. Sorano did last year, and so did Sawyer. Hell, even Richard apologized to her about it, and he wasn't even _there_ at the time." Erik rolled his amethyst eye. "Quit making excuses for yourself and just do it already." When Macbeth didn't budge, he tacked on, "You big coward."

Macbeth hated how that was enough to spur him on. "I hate you," he hissed, standing up. "One day, I'm going to figure out how to block your soul reading like Brain did. Just you wait."

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Erik turned away from his friend. "Get going already. She's in the backroom behind the stage, preparing to do a set with the metal face." He paused for a moment, considering something.

"What?" Macbeth asked him.

Cat-with-a-canary was the only description the reflector mage could come up with for his friend's expression. "Oh, it's nothing. Just try not to stare."

Confused, Macbeth just shook his head and made his way to where he'd seen Lucy vanish earlier. It didn't take him long to find the closed door to the preparation room. He hesitated at the threshold, before raising his hand and knocking on the door.

"Come in!" Lucy called from within.

Macbeth steeled himself, opened the door, and walked in.

And then immediately froze in place.

"How did I let Gajeel talk me into wearing this again?" Lucy lamented to herself, looking over her reflection in the mirror. "What is it with him and bunny suits?"

Macbeth was going to strangle Erik.

Lucy turned to see who was at the door, her expression turning to surprise at seeing Macbeth there. "Oh! Mid... Macbeth," she stuttered, correcting his name partway through. "Hello. Did you need something?"

He shut the door behind him, and then instantly regretted it. It was far too cramped, most of the space taken up by various stage props and lights, and he began to feel claustrophobic. "I just... I just came to say..." He struggled with the words, his feelings twisting his gut into complicated knots.

His eyes darted around, Macbeth trying his best not to look too closely at Lucy's outfit, especially with Erik's words about his habit of staring at her. But there was just nothing else in the small room worth looking at.

"You okay?" Lucy asked, concern in her voice. "You're looking a little ill. I think I have some water…?" Her voice trailed off at the end of her tentative offer as Macbeth shook his head.

"No, but… thanks," he said, his gaze snapping back to her face. "I just wanted to say…"

Then he frowned

"Wait. That's a horrible shade of lipstick for you."

Shock at his statement widened Lucy's eyes as she watched him approach her little preparation station. She continued to watch in dumbfounded silence as he riffled through her small collection of lipsticks.

With a dissatisfied huff, he abandoned the search. Instead, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a tube. "Here, let's use mine. It's a better shade than what you're currently working with."

Lucy gently took the tube from his outstretched hand, her fingers warm where they brushed his palm. "Thank you," she told him, a small smile on her lips.

Lips that were smudged from the incorrect application of her prior lipstick.

"Hold on, let me… just let me do it," he commanded, grabbing a small towel off the makeup counter and dipping it into her water glass.

"Hey!" she protested, but further complaint was soon cut off when she felt his hand on her chin.

"Hold still."

Lucy blinked rapidly as Macbeth held the moist towel to her lower lip. Pressing lightly, he began to gently wipe away the offending lipstick. After a moment, Lucy relaxed into his hold. With nowhere else for her gaze to rest, she kept it focused on Macbeth.

Although he was hyper-aware of how close his face was to her, and of her intense observation, Macbeth kept his focus on Lucy's lips. They were a little chapped under the lipstick, he discovered. She didn't take proper care of them. She really ought to, they were lovely.

The stray thought was fast shaken away as Macbeth began to apply his own shade to her lips, replaced by the even more uncomfortable feeling that came with seeing his color on her.

When he was finished, he dropped his grip on her chin and took a step back from her. "There. That's much better," he said, satisfied with his efforts.

Lucy turned to look at her reflection, and a smile began to spread across her beautiful lips. "Thank you, Macbeth!" She turned again to look back at him, her brown eyes alight with her delight. "I've never had someone apply makeup on me before, so it startled me at first, but I can't argue with the results. It looks amazing."

He almost asked, but then he remembered all of the research they'd done on her, years before. When they had intended to sacrifice her to an ancient, time and reality-warping device. Lucy's mother had died long ago and most of the servants dismissed; it was likely that she was largely self-taught when it came to makeup. Macbeth and Sorano had at least had each other to practice on growing up.

The words he'd found so difficult to say before suddenly didn't seem so anymore, and they rose to his lips like the tide. "I'm sorry," he told her. When her expression turned to confusion, he cleared his throat and clarified. "That's what I came to tell you. I never apologized for what we… what I put you through years ago with the Infinity Clock. I'm truly, _deeply_ sorry."

Lucy's lips parted slightly, and then shut again. Water welling in her eyes, and her lips pursed together, she nodded sharply.

He hoped she didn't cry. It would ruin her makeup.

With nothing left to say, he left the tube of lipstick on the counter beside her, and turned to leave.

When he opened the door, his ears caught a whispered, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said. "Good luck on your performance." Then he shut the door behind him, and rejoined his friend in the crowded guildhall.

Erik, for once, had nothing sarcastic to say at all.

When Lucy emerged for her performance with Gajeel, she looked amazing, and to Macbeth's eyes, she shone like a star.


End file.
